Reisi is not an artist.

No matter how carefully he shades, he cannot completely capture the embarassed blush which sometimes spreads across Saruhiko's cheeks; or the sharp light in his eyes. He can neither completely translate the warmth of a hug nor the cool press of fingertips to his skin. No matter how sharp his lineart, he cannot fully express Saruhiko's tone when he snaps sarcastically. No matter the softness of his strokes, he cannot capture the sweet murmurs in his ear as they lie tangled in each other. He cannot fully express the heat of a kiss or how soothing it is to feel Saruhiko's fingers in his hair.

No artist can completely express his reality, not when it constantly changes. Of course, the usual routine is there. He is shaken awake each morning, sometimes with a pillow to the face. The cup of morning coffee is always there along with the newspaper. Art can capture the surface, but it cannot capture the underlying affection in Saruhiko's voice even as he issues death threats if Reisi does not wake up before the coffee turns cold. It cannot capture that which is so insubstantial, yet which forms the core of his existence.

Reisi is not an artist, but then again, no artist can trap Saruhiko on paper.